


Living Water

by kyrilu



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24791356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: He wonders what it means when a vampire killer offers you his neck.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 32
Kudos: 283





	Living Water

**Author's Note:**

> all my love to fellow nandermo nerds for talking blood drinking and hand kissing with me!

There are still droplets of holy water on Guillermo’s hand when he touches him. It burns like _shit_ , and Nandor hisses after contact.

“Oh,” Guillermo says, his eyes wide. He must have been vampire hunting, Nandor can tell, encountering assassins that the Vampire Council has continued to send after them.

It’s an unsaid thing, Guillermo’s little hobby; it’s a balancing act. He comes back, ruffled and ragged, dark circles underneath his eyes and the curls of his hair disarrayed. Nandor leaves out chainmail and whetstones for him, then Guillermo returns them, and they go about a semblance of a new routine, tiptoeing around what had happened in the theatre.

Guillermo is still his familiar, and he’s also… not. It’s a bit confusing, and Nandor has to dress himself.

But there are days like these when Guillermo will help Nandor out of his coffin, and he’ll tell Nandor about whatever side hustle he’s got going on with the supernatural creatures in the area -- of course those werewolves like whatever dog treats that Guillermo’s made, how could they not --

And now it _burns_ like fire. 

Nandor waves his hand up and down. “What are you, some kind of stinging hornet? Because that really stung, Guillermo.” The holy water simmers against his palm, like lightning streaks across a stormy sky.

Guillermo immediately backs off. “Sorry. I -- I had a long day.” 

“Never mind.” Nandor levitates out of his coffin by himself and stands against it. “Are you not washing your hands? There is a plague going around, you know. I hope you are carrying a talisman.”

“A talisman?”

“A charm, an amulet,” Nandor says, frowning. “To ward off the miasma.” Do humans not do that anymore? It makes much more sense than the ugly bird mask that Laszlo has taken to wearing.

Nandor makes a note to himself to look for any amulets he has in his possession - perhaps that keychain from Colin Robinson’s workplace will suffice, or that spinning fidget thing that he once had taken from a victim. 

Guillermo blinks. “I’m wearing a mask and being careful. I was interrupted while doing some errands. Master, is there anything I can do for your hand?” 

He’s right -- it isn’t healing. Nandor frowns and holds it up to the candlelight, surveying the redness against his pale skin. 

“Truth be told,” he admits, “I haven’t been eating much lately, so my vampiric immune system needs fortification.”

“What about the guy I brought you last week--”

“I put him in one of the spare rooms for later, but I think Nadja ate him.”

“Weren’t you supposed to go hunting with her and Laszlo yesterday--”

“Don’t feel up to it.”

“Nandor,” Guillermo says, “you have to eat.”

And Nandor shows his teeth at him. “There you go again with the name thing you’ve been doing, Guillermo. That is not proper behavior.”

“Master.” 

Guillermo says it, simply, calmly, and he takes Nandor’s singed palm against his. There is more pain now, sharp and striking, and Nandor feels it course through him. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” 

Nandor winces, but he doesn’t shake off Guillermo’s grip. “I’ve been very busy, Guillermo. While you’ve been baking and running around, Colin Robinson has been showing me how to use the Etherweb. I’m following the fantasy basketball league, watching moving pictures of kittens, and learning how to Vroom call.” 

“Zoom.”

“Yes, that.”

Guillermo asks, surprised, “Who are you Zoom calling?” 

“Vampire only business,” Nandor says, and Guillermo raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say: _Seriously?_

After a few seconds, it’s clear that Nandor won’t explain, and Guillermo frowns and releases his hold. Nandor’s burns are more harsher and pronounced, Guillermo’s fingertips having traced shapes into his skin.

“Fine,” Guillermo says. “If you’re not going to feed from anyone else, then --” He inclines his neck, baring his throat. “However much energy you need to heal the burn, and you can go back to watching as many cat videos you want.”

The expanse of Guillermo’s neck is an appealing sight. Nandor looks at the arch and curve of it, the strain of his shoulder parted to the side. 

He wonders what it means when a vampire killer offers you his neck.

He leans over. Inhales. Guillermo smells like the ash of desiccated vampires. He smells like sugar and honey. But most of all, there is blood, lovely and lively and pulsing. 

“Is this a trick?” Nandor murmurs, his mouth hovering over Guillermo’s neck. “I am not going to turn you, Guillermo. Not now.” 

“No. I got you burned, and this is me making it up to you.” Guillermo makes a noise of exasperation. “Did you forget how to bite?”

“Watch your tone,” Nandor says. His lips twist, and he makes a decision. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to control this hunger. Not with Guillermo pressed down underneath him, his fangs bearing down and supping. 

It’ll be just a little easier, perhaps, if he did this another way. 

He draws back, and he lowers himself down before Guillermo. He seeks out one of those blessed-burning hands--

And he sinks his fangs into Guillermo’s wrist. The skin breaks, the veins throb, and Guillermo lets out a startled gasping whimper, his fingers convulsing against Nandor’s cheek.

His blood spills into Nandor’s mouth -- a minute trickle, then, steady, streaming.

“ _Nandor_ \--”

Nandor hisses, latches his teeth tighter. Guillermo’s hand still burns, remnants of holy water sparking against Nandor’s skin, but he doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care_ \-- soon, it will heal. For now, this is about the taste of him.

He feels his hair getting tugged and twisted. Guillermo is scrabbling at him with his other hand, swaying, shaking. Nandor, on his knees, doesn’t nudge him off, merely keeps drinking from his wrist.

He’s lapping at the blood with the swipe of his tongue--he’s twisting his jaw so he’ll get access to the artery just _right_ \--and he swallows, and swallows, appeasing the devouring abyss of his hunger.

“Slower,” Guillermo says, faint, his hand buried in Nandor’s hair stroking out a warning. “It _hurts_ \-- Nandor--”

Nandor can barely hear him. He doesn’t think he wants to hear him.

Shuddering: “ _\--Master._ Master. That’s enough.” 

With effort, Nandor slows down the pace of his feeding. Finally, he disengages, careful that Guillermo’s wrist won’t leak blood anymore.

He trails his mouth away, placing kisses from bite-marked wrist to open palm to broad fingers. Bloodied and gentle, until he brushes against Guillermo’s fingertips and collapses backwards, sated.

He licks his lips and savors what’s lingering. He doesn’t even need to look down at his hand to see that it’s restored to its smooth, undamaged state. 

Meanwhile, Guillermo takes a roll of bandages from his coat pocket and tugs a swath of it around his wound. Cradling his wrist, he stumbles into the chair behind him. 

Nandor watches him with heavy-lidded eyes -- he knows his pupils sometimes glow in the dark after feeding, which is pretty cool.

“Good?” Guillermo asks, and flushes. “I mean, there. Done. You had your food for tonight.”

Nandor sees and smells: Guillermo’s arousal, tenting his trousers and quickening his breath, and he smiles a bloodstained smile. “You liked that, vampire hunter. You like it when I hunt _you_. I hope you’re not like this around all those other vampires out there.”

Guillermo’s flush deepens. “I’m not. Just--” He stops.

“Good.”

A beat, and Nandor tells him, “ _Go_. Before I try to take more than just a little blood, Guillermo. You stink of needy virgin-ness. It’s getting everywhere. I’m going to have to find the scented candles.”

There, Nandor thinks. He has self-control, and he won’t be tempted by his familiar-turned-warrior.

That’s the thing about familiars, or, really, the servants that he once had as a still-human conqueror. Sometimes you want to take and take and keep taking, but they cry or die or act all annoying, and it gets _boring_. 

He doesn’t want to ever be bored by Guillermo. 

Guillermo gets on his feet, and makes his way to the doorway. “I’ll go.” He clears his throat. “I’ll… I’ll be back in a moment.”

Oh, right. Virgins and low stamina. Nandor pulls himself out of his crouching position, and makes a show of searching in the cabinets for the scented candles.

When the door closes behind Guillermo, Nandor peers at his own erection. He’ll have to take care of this, too. 

Fucking Guillermo de la Cruz. This guy with dark eyes, tasty blood, and strong vampire-slaying hands.

Later tonight, Nandor must conduct more Broom calls to discuss details about drawing up a treaty with the Vampire Council. And more research to conduct, of course; he’s been buried in scrolls and books, looking for the relevant documents to cite.

He had almost forgotten that the Accord of 1968 had tried to ban all vampires from wearing tie dye because it was, quote, “gaudy and soul-destroying like sunlight.”

But for now, he brings his hand against his waist, pressing, urgent, biting his lips as he recalls the warm sensation of Guillermo’s blood filling him up. 


End file.
